


Dangerous Woman

by Crowsister



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: F/M, Human/Monster Romance, Teratophilia, creative liberties were taken, fey politics, there is some weird blood stuff fyi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 04:37:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13023372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowsister/pseuds/Crowsister
Summary: Keladeinos of No House always had a weird life. A bastard child of a drow prince, most unruly resident of her mother’s orphanage, she always stuck out like a sore thumb. It got worse, after the fey Hound, but she found that she didn’t particularly mind.





	1. A Gift, Freely Given

**Author's Note:**

> This is the backstory of my warlock from the 5e game that I’m running around in that's being run by bamfbugboy, who you may know for Petals on the River (a lovely Overwatch historical AU that features McHanzo). It quickly spiraled out of control and I figured hey, might as well post this story to prove that I’m alive and writing.

Thaecuria was a large kingdom, just south of the Sea of Swords, where philosophers and wizards were highly respected and the number seven was fashionable. The climate was unremarkably cool, maybe a little wet in the summer and spring. The knights kept their armor brightly polished mainly for show—it had been centuries since anything they could fight and win had attacked. There were sometimes problems between the elven councils, a periodic problem of kidnapping and ransoming children of rivals, but they were always the sort of problem that could be solved with an arranged marriage a few years later or a large sum of money. All in all, Thaecuria was a very prosperous and pleasant place, all things considered.

Keladeinos hated it.

Keladeinos was the youngest child in the care of Helen Burgess, a human woman who ran an orphanage, and Helen found Keladeinos rather trying. The other children were perfectly normal: runaway elven princelings who needed a hand to help them survive their adventurous spirits, half-elf bastards left to rot by their elven parents, or human children orphaned by travelers (travelers lost to the politics of Thaecuria or to the Wild Hunt or to the Gentry). Keladeinos was none of these things. Keladeinos was Helen’s biological daughter, though she did count as a bastard as her father wanted nothing to do with her beyond leaving the child a name: a sarcastic quip for the child being named after her “strong voice” for how loud she cried as a baby. Keladeinos was the result of far too many pretty words and too much wine with the prince of the drow house of Kenarn, Vakos. The other children in the orphanage were of pale or tan skin with brown, red, black, or blond hair and sweet dispositions. Keladeinos was lovely enough, but her skin was jet black and her hair was a shocking shade of white. Like her father, if the child was angry enough, looking into her eyes was like looking into the void. Happy, her black eyes looked like melted tar. Rather than growing it out and wearing it curled and pinned like how Helen taught the other girls, Keladeinos let her hair frizz and always found a dagger to cut it short when she dubbed it too long.

And she wouldn’t stop growing. Where other half-elf girls her age were able to look up adorably through her lashes, Keladeinos would look you evenly in the eye more often than not with her height. Helen was sure no one would want to marry a girl who could look them in the eye rather than becomingly through her lashes. As for the girl’s disposition—well, when people were being polite, they said she was strong-minded. When they weren’t pleased with her, they said she was as stubborn as a pig.

Helen did her best with Keladeinos. She used her governess training from her old life, teaching her everything that she thought would help Keladeinos in life: dancing, embroidery, drawing, and etiquette. There was a great deal of etiquette, from the proper way to curtsy before a visiting human prince to the proper way to curtsy before a visiting elven prince to how loudly it was permissible to scream when being carried off by a fey (Thaecuria had the occasional problem with fey).

Keladeinos found it very dull — it was clear to see from the girl’s freckled face. But she pressed her lips together and learned it anyway. When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she would go down the path to the nearby village and bully the armsmaster of the local barracks into giving her a fencing lesson. As she got older, the fencing lessons became more and more frequent.

When she was twelve, her mother found out.

“Fencing is not proper for a young lady of your lifestyle,” Helen told in the same gentle, but firm tone she used with the other girls who tried this. “At least wait until you’re of adventuring age before messing with swords.”

“Why isn’t it proper for me?” Keladeinos asked. “The boys get lessons from Armsmaster Kernos all the time and some of them are my age.” She smiled, holding herself with the air of having an unshakeable argument. “Also! I am a young lady of my lifestyle and I do it, so it has to be proper!”

“That doesn’t make it proper,” Helen replied, closing her eyes and pinching her nose bridge.

“Why not?”

“It just doesn’t.”

When she was fourteen, Keladeinos was found to be taking lessons from the local wizard hermit. Helen apologized intensely, but the old woman waved her off and gave Keladeinos a wink. Helen promised herself she’d never let Keladeinos near that woman’s house again, but there was no need: the hermit’s tower vanished and Helen gave a sigh of relief.

The pattern continued, however: tracking lessons from one local hunter, archery from another, the art of skinning and collecting trophies from another. The only unorthodox lesson that Helen approved of was one hunter teaching Keladeinos how to train hounds (lap dogs were a thing that a lady of high standing could have, Helen told herself. It was alright), until Keladeinos had trained the old mastiff that the orphans would feed to respond to her commands (which included an attack command, which was issued on a Wood Elf merchant. Helen is still to this day unsure how she managed to talk her way out of having to pay back the damages).

Keladeinos's problem with hounds, Helen swore, only got worse because of that one fey hound they found in the woods when Keladeinos was eighteen. Helen often had the children help her with gathering herbs and the fruits of the forest, the more hands the better. She stopped taking Keladeinos with her after that day.

She had spotted Keladeinos unusually still, like a deer caught in the light of a lamp. Helen had followed her gaze and saw what her daughter had been staring at: a Hound of the Hunt, a great bristled wolf-like creature with fur so white it hurt her head, with blackened paws and maw and ice cold eyes, trapped in a bear trap. It was gnawing at its own leg and before Helen could even blink, there was her daughter approaching it.

“Daughter,” Helen yelled, still careful enough to avoid saying her daughter’s true name in front of a fey, “stop right there-”

“No, Mother,” she replied, “it’s proper to help such a dignitary, isn’t it?”

Helen watched in horror as Keladeinos approached the Hound, hands held in front of her. The Hound watched Keladeinos with wary eyes, growling. Keladeinos stopped in her tracks and Helen prayed to every god she knew of that it was because her daughter was rethinking her life and her choices. But that wasn’t to be the case, as Keladeinos opened her mouth.

“I offer a gift, freely given,” she stated. At _least_ she paid attention to fey etiquette. “I want to free you from the trap. I expect nothing in return. Shake your head up and down once if you understand.”

The Hound tilted its head, its growling stopping. It slowly nodded. Keladeinos approached, kneeling. She studied the mechanics of the bear trap, holding out her hand and freezing the more delicate parts of it with some kind of spell flickering out of her hand and then busting the trap with the butt of the dull knife Helen gave her to cut clippings of herbs with. She gently eased open the trap and the Hound leapt at her. Helen screamed at just the right volume, rushing forward to try to save her daughter. She froze five feet away, noticing no blood or screams of pain from her daughter. The Hound simply was licking at her face, Keladeinos had her eyes closed and was laughing with delight as the Hound’s massive tongue swept over her face.

“You’re welcome, you’re welcome!” Keladeinos giggled. “Please get off of me, your paw is crushing my arm.”

The Hound retreated off of her with what sounded like an apologetic whine, letting her sit up. Helen gasped as she saw her daughter’s eyes.

They were no longer as black as her father’s abyssal eyes. They were pale blue, like ice was coating her irises. It was a change that Keladeinos would later be insufferably proud of when the sensible thing to have done was to have been terrified. Her eyes marked her as someone who had messed with the Court of Winter and lived.

And since then, the girl had been insufferable around dogs that were bred to hunt. The hunting dogs in the village would fight for her attention to her daughter’s delight and Helen caught her daughter whispering and giggling at dog barks. As if they were having a conversation! Her daughter would be missing, similarly to when Helen used to catch her bullying a hunter for lessons, but after catching her daughter in the company of the Hound of the Hunt, Helen never put a stop to these visits like she had everything else Keladeinos had done.

Despite Keladeinos’s many shortcomings and differences, Helen loved her daughter. But even she knew better than to meddle in the affairs of the Wild Huntsman. There were no elven councils or kidnappers to bribe: this was not a problem that Helen could even begin to help her daughter in.


	2. Ironbane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wheels of Keladeinos’s life begin to turn when she meets another member of the Gentry.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Keladeinos called out, following the big Hound. “I’ll follow, show me what you’ve found, Charlie.”

She followed her friend, the Hound, in a fast jog. She gave him the name Charlie since he wouldn’t tell her his name (acceptable, considering fey and true names) and he called her Ironbane — for how she could touch cold iron and metal where he couldn’t. He was intelligent, she could always tell that for all the years she’d known him. He was as much of a person as she was, with possibly more opinions. He just couldn’t speak to most people, but he gave her the gift to be able to speak to him and all the animals of the forest. Now, she knew what the other children meant when they talked of friendship.

“He’s hurt, needs help!” Charlie barked, racing around her. He was fast enough to be able to outpace her in a blink, able to circle around her and show her the way through the forest at the same time. “Will pay-”

“No paying, Charlie! Just show me where your friend is,” Keladeinos replied. It wasn’t the first time Charlie had dragged her out to help a friend: other Hounds got caught in the traps, some smaller fey scouts, a trapped fairy horse, a cat with three eyes here, an elk with eight legs there. She’d always managed to get away with a minor gift: a slightly better health system, hair she didn’t have to brush to be manageable, teeth that were always white and healthy, the ability to see magic if she focused hard enough. She hoped this one would be no different: her mother would get suspicious of all the gifts she had and throw her out if she was too fey-touched. But it would be impossible to refuse the fey she helped and live: it was how fey were. When they thought there was a debt to repay, they got pushy and insistent. “A gift for a favor,” they had purred every time, even when she had used the words “a gift, freely given”. A few recognized her, so word must’ve been spreading. Did she have a reputation?

She didn’t get to ponder that long as Charlie slayed her train of thought. “Yes, yes, this way.” Charlie bucked her onto his back. She instinctively held onto his thick, cold fur as he began to sprint, the forest becoming a blur. The cold, harsh wind whipping around them told her that he was going the fastest he could and the air’s crispness hurt her lungs. He wasn’t big enough to carry her as a rider, her feet dragged until he got fast enough to lift her feet off the ground like she was a cape fastened to his back.

Charlie brought her to a clearing in the snow. She hopped off, her teeth chattering, and followed Charlie. He brought her to a blood (in blue of what she had come to learn as fey blood and in red of...something else) soaked clearing, a battleground of sorts. There were fallen Hounds and...some other kind of humanoids. Probably fey from Charlie’s Court.

Charlie marched past the dead bodies, coming across a larger humanoid body and plopping down next to it, whining loudly. Keladeinos figured they were the biggest of the lot. They wore black armor and blue blood with flecks of gold leaked from a large wound in their gut. She could see the problem immediately: a large spear was impaled in their gut. Someone really wanted this person dead. She jumped when they moved their hand, slowly (weakly, her mind supplied) petting Charlie’s head.

“Erebus, where have you been?” The person croaked, apparently only having eyes for Charlie. She rolled her eyes, looking down at the person’s cloak spread on the snow.

“Brought help! Not letting Master die, no no!”

Keladeinos ripped part of the cloak off, making makeshift gloves for her hands. She gave a casual wave in response to the person’s rather intense stare. She felt like she had the spear in her gut from how this person’s eyes invisibly (she couldn’t see their eyes, but gods above could she feel them).

“I will pay-”

“I offer my help freely. To speak plainly, consider this a gift, freely given,” she said nonchalantly. She winced as the person began to sit up, but she kicked their shoulder. “Oi, lay back.”

“You...you want no payment?” They asked. “Do you not know who I am?”

“Honestly? Most I know is that you’re very important to the only damn friend I have,” she answered. “That makes you important enough. I don’t care if you’re a Lord or a scout or whatever ties you have. Just lay back and lemme get this spear out of you. You’ve got the same healing thing that Charlie has?”

“I...if you mean Erebus, yes,” they answered slowly. “I just can’t heal around the spear-”

“Because it’s iron, I know,” Keladeinos replied. She smiled, putting her hands on the spear’s shaft and examining how it was lodged in him. “Are you always this chatty to people? Especially when you have a spear in your stomach?” Not that she minded — they had a nice voice. Deep, rumbling, with a bit of a husky growl to it. The kind of voice you’d give an imaginary gruff general in your daydreams of war.

“I...not particularly. This is the longest conversation I’ve had in six centuries.”

“Glad to see the spear’s not impacting your ability for that,” she snickered.

“Are...are you sure this is a gift-”

“Freely given,” she answered. “No strings attached. It’d be sad if you turn around and kill me after this, but I’ve already accepted it as a possibility. Won’t make it easy for you though.” She winked down at them. “I’m scrappy. Roll over onto your side, I’m gonna push it through since I dunno if this thing’s got hooks.” She moved as they rolled onto their side. She made sure she had solid footing with her numb feet and a good hold on the spear and pushed. The person made a soft grunting noise in response, obviously trying to play the tough guy, but she figured this hurt like hell. She pushed it all the way through as best she could. Physical strength had never been her forte, but she was _determined_ damn it.

She pushed it far enough, then it was pulled from her grip through them. She fell into the snow with a squawk, falling against the rapidly closing wound. She could see the person’s arm throw the spear somewhere far away and they rapidly moved away from her. She sat up, shaking snow out of her hair and looking at them. The wound was closing, leaving a smooth patch of pale, icy blue skin exposed with their armor.

“Feeling better?” She asked, wrapping her arms around herself. Now that she wasn’t trying to actively attempt something, it was harder to ignore the severe cold around her. She was dressed for lightly cool forests, not...wherever this tundra was.

“Much,” they answered slowly, as if confused by her concern. “Possibly better than you look right now.”

“O-oh, I kn-know,” she chuckled, her teeth chattering. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “I’m hideous at all times, so I can’t im-imagine that Hound Express air hair and slowly freezing to death looks much better.”

“I could-”

“Nope,” she giggled, “no payment. Ask Charlie, I never take it.”

“A gift then,” they replied, slowly moving closer. They were massive — easily towering over her by three feet at least. They slowly kneeled in front of her, putting their massive gauntlets on her shoulders. “Freely given for a favor.”

“Finding loopholes, lil shits,” she sputtered, not being able to feel her body anymore. Sleep felt like such a good idea to her brain, a small part of it shouting to not fall asleep in both this kind of cold and around fey. She closed her eyes, but stayed standing due to the grip the fey had on her shoulders.

Keladeinos felt a rush of warm and life flow through her and her eyes bolted open. She could see the dark armor holding her just as she remembered. She looked up and saw two burning coals staring out of the person’s helmet, close enough to be able to see the gentle orange glow.

“Nature’s chill will no longer harm you. The chill of my territory here in Fimbulwinter will reinvigorate you,” they replied. “It knows better than to defy the Wild Huntsman.”

She nodded, a smile spreading on her face. Keladeinos reached up to his collar and pulled him down. He had the strength, if he was truly the Wild Huntsman, to resist her if he wanted to. She felt a surge of glee that he was letting her. She kissed the side of his helmet before letting him go. He straightened like a startled deer when she let him go.

“Get home safe, alright?” She asked. “No more spears to the gut. Ironbane’s orders.”

He tilted his head at her. “You presume to order the Wild Huntsman?”

“You took my order to roll over on your side alright,” she answered, smile never fading as she took a step or two back from him. “Besides, I find it rather hard to be afraid of someone who, in a high chance of death situation, decides that it’s more important to comfort their dog than to try to get help themselves.”

“I had it under control.”

“I believe you, darling,” she giggled and dropping into a half-curtsy. “If I have permission, I’d like to get back home.”

“I...yes,” he waved her off, turning. “You’re dismissed, Ironbane.”

“If you need another spear removed, lemme know,” she replied, her voice hesitantly flirty.

The Wild Huntsman, King of the Winter Court, Terror of Thaecuria and Beyond, the Cold Fist of Winter, the Merciless Horseman, _froze_ at her flirty tone. He looked at her over his shoulder in a way that she’d think was sheepish if it was anyone else. “I...I will keep that in mind, Ironbane.”

She nodded, glad her skin hid her embarrassment (if she was any other type of half-elf, her cheeks and ears would give away her flustered state). She walked over to Charlie and held onto her friend.

“Master likes you! Didn’t kill you!” Charlie’s tail wagged back and forth hard. Keladeinos was sure that it was going to give her massive bruises on her hip.

“I am very glad of both of those things,” Keladeinos muttered against Charlie’s fur. “Can you take me back home?”

“Yes, yes! Good friend, Ironbane, best friend.” Charlie barked her praises all the way back. Keladeinos tried her best not to melt into a flustered puddle.

In bed that night, Keladeinos stared up at the rickety ceiling of the orphanage. She had her pillow hugged to her chest.

She mouthed the words slowly, “If you need another spear removed, lemme know.” She winced, covering her face with her pillow and cursing silently so she wasn’t overheard by the small children just down the hall.

Of all the lines to use on the first sentient, real life being she’d ever been remotely attracted to and she used that line? On the Wild _fucking_ Huntsman? He probably had fey courtiers, who had centuries more of experience than her, that said better lines to him. The only thing that brought her out of her mortified state was the image of how horrified her mother would be at the idea of her attempting to flirt with the _King_ of one of the fey Courts. She bit back giggles, closing her eyes and curling around her pillow.


	3. Something Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recommend having a page open on Victorian flower language with this chapter because there's a level of subtext underneath all the prose in the flowers mentioned.

Things started to get weird after that, which she should’ve expected after launching a weird flirty comment at a Lord of the Fey. She started to find bear skins with bouquets of nutmeg-scented geraniums, dried flax, and fennel flowers at the river when she was on laundry duty. She found a cloak made out of the most beautiful foxes she’d ever seen— or rather, she had it dropped on her head in the middle of the woods with a gloryflower. Even Charlie brought her something from his master: a sturdier, warmer bedroll made of some white fur she couldn’t even _begin_ to identify and a bouquet of gooseberry, fraxinella, and _iceplant_ flowers (something at the back of her head nagged that at this point, the flowers had to _mean_ something, but damn if she knew what).

“...please tell me you didn’t tell him that I sleep in an orphanage that’s falling apart,” Kela groaned into the rolled up bedroll, sitting against Charlie’s side deep in the woods. She was trying very hard to ignore the fact that a Lord of the Fey was giving her _flowers_.

“...then I couldn’t talk,” Charlie answered primly, with his ears folding back, “and then that’d be a rude request.”

She groaned, “Charlie, love you, you’re my best friend, but _why?_ ”

“You don’t refuse requests from the Master,” Charlie replied. “It’s just...not done.”

“I am so tired of everything and its determination to be proper and done ‘correctly’!” She set the bedroll on her lap, putting her hands in the air and gesturing wildly as she spoke. “Not allowed to learn how to fight, not allowed to know how to do magic, not allowed to do anything beyond being an extra set of hands and a loose screw of a pet project by my mother to become some kind of noble lady! I’m just so tired of it all, Charlie. I’m a peasant! That’s the simple reality of it. I’m a bastard child who’s now an adult that isn’t allowed to make her first steps into life.”

She rest her head in her hands, sighing deeply. Then she felt Charlie’s tail smack her in the head and she jumped. Keladeinos looked at Charlie, knowing his wolfish facial expressions by now. He was _grinning_.

He jumped up and she fell to the forest floor. “Have to tell the Master, have to-”

“Erebus!” she whispered and he froze. He stared at her and she stood up, brushing herself off. “You have to tell the Master, _what_ , Charlie?”

“He...he wants to know what will win your favor,” Charlie muttered sheepishly, cowed from his bouncing excitement by her using his true name. “That’s what all of this is about.”

“Then you know what you should tell him? To ask me himself-”

“I’m sorry, miss, but are you...are you talking to a wolf?” a rich, baritone voice asked.

She spun around, picking up a rock above her head and going to throw it to see a boy around her age. A _cute_ looking boy, maybe a head or so taller than her. By his sharp and jagged tattoos and grey skin tone, coupled with his impressive height and muscle mass, he was quite obviously a goliath. It was...rare to see goliaths on their own, without their herds. He had an impressive horned helmet on with beautiful antlers attached to it, the sole piece of solid armor to his person. He had an armored kilt, but that was more studded leather to the solid metal appearance of the helmet. She noted that his glaive’s blade was made of bone – not metal.

“Um...yes,” she answered. “I do that...sometimes.”

“I ‘eard this part of the world was weird, but I didn’t think it was this weird,” he replied. He walked up to her, still holding a glaive in one hand. He looked from his glaive to her rock. “You uh...always come out to the forest with no weapons?”

“I have magic and a wolf, usually works for druids,” she answered, doing her best to keep her vision on his face and not on his arms.

He shrugged, offering her his other hand. “True enough. Kanathi Hornhunter No-Herd, at your service.”

“Um...Kela of No House,” she replied, slowly taking his hand.

He looked a little lovestruck, which struck her as odd. “Kela...name’s almost as pretty as you are.”

She snorted, feeling her face heat up. “Yeah well...we can’t all be cool Hornhunters.”

“Sure you could!” Keladeinos blinked owlishly at his enthusiasm as he grinned at her. “You’re nimble as shit, you’d make a good hunter any day of the week. Year.”

“Maybe if I, y’know...had a teacher,” she replied, looking at her feet in an effort to look shy and to hide the gleam of mischief in her eyes. “The hunters around the village are too scared of my mother to teach me when I ask them to.”

“Skinny old human woman, honey colored hair streaked with white?” Kanathi asked and she nodded. He holstered his glaive on his back and then slapped his knee. “Ha! I’ll be scared of ‘er when the world ends.”

She put all the lessons she overheard her mother giving the shorter girls to use. She looked up at him, blinked slowly with a smile and Kanathi looked down at her like a deer caught in a dancing lights spell. She walked up to him, tossing the rock to the side before putting a hand on his chest and internally giggling at the shudder she felt rush through him. “Then you’ll teach me?”

“Anything you want,” he muttered, eyes going down to her lips before shooting back up to her eyes.

“For what price?” she asked, waggling her eyebrows. Fey or not, it was always good to know what was expected of you.

“I get to keep whatever you kill while learning,” Kanathi answered. “Meat, bones, fur — all of it.”

“Sounds fair,” she replied, humming. “You can let go of my hand now.”

He sheepishly let go of her hand — that Kanathi didn’t seem to realize he was _still_ holding from when they shook hands — and took a step back out of her touch. “Think your wolf can get you back here tomorrow?”

“Most likely,” she answered. She let herself have a little fun, turning around and picking up the bedroll that the Wild Huntsman gave her slowly and petting Charlie (who had gone silent during that whole exchange). “If not, I suppose you’ll enjoy the hunt now, won’t you?”

“Oh definitely,” he answered and she could feel his eyes on her. “I—I mean...that’s what we hunters-”

“Huntsmen. And huntswomen,” she interrupted, looking over her shoulder at him. “That’s the title we use around here. Pay our respects to the Wild Huntsman.”

She knew what she was looking for and it helped her notice a crucial, yet subtle shift in moods in his body language: she could see him almost externally preen smugly at that with his eyes lighting up and a cocky smirk spreading on his face. She kept her own pride internal. “Right, right, what we huntsmen do. Enjoy the hunt.”

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Keladeinos replied, turning her head back in front of her and gently coaxing Charlie up onto his paws (she didn’t have to look hard at Charlie to know that Charlie was grinning with the joy she felt inside). “I hear the deer’s good to the south of here.”

“Thank you kindly.”

Keladeinos smiled to herself, biting her lip. She picked up the bouquet with her other hand, sure he could see her doing it, and made a show of smiling at it as she walked with Charlie.

* * *

She stuck to her plan of making it hard for him to find her the next day. Kanathi found her as quickly as she expected, almost supernaturally so. Keladeinos listened to his instructions, managed to kill a rabbit, then they parted again for the night. She stuck to being hard to get, reverse-engineering his hunting lessons to make it harder for him to find her. It was a small price for him to pay for his cocky attitude and the occasional condescension.

“You’ll probably never be able to track as easily as I do, but that’s alright. Some of us just have to live with being mediocre,” he had said one day. He later that same day gave her a yellow jonquil flower after she managed to track down and kill (with his help) a bear and wouldn’t answer her question as to _why_ he was picking flowers at a time like this. It didn’t stop her from tucking it in her hair and growing very smug at his flustered look.

He had chuckled another day when she failed to see some type of weather sign that he did, “I’m just a little bit closer to the forest than you are.” This one made her particularly pissed since there was a rain storm with winds so violent, they _conveniently_ got trapped in a bear’s cave.

“If you had told me, we could’ve gone back towards the village and my mother would’ve sheltered us.” She had swat his arm, ignoring the sting in her hand from how solidly built his arm muscles were.

He had simply grinned at her with a wolfish grin. “And if I wanted to steal you for a night?”

They had killed and ate the bear — she wanted the sheer look of desire that was on his face at the sight of her with blood from a fresh kill dripping down her down her lips, down her chin, down her neck, painted and preserved forever. She had had to restrain herself to only two quips in response to Kanathi’s suggestion to have sex and cuddle for warmth, knowing that he was just touch-starved and lonely deep down. In the moment, with curiosity and desire bubbling in her, she took him up on his offer. Keladeinos had had very little regrets in life at that point and chasing that curiosity was not one of them.

“Shooting a crossbow is hard,” he had said another day while patting her on the back after missing five shots in a row for a doe, “that’s what I tell the wee ones I train back home.” When she finally hit a buck, he had given her a branch of holly with flowers blooming along it. “Call it a trophy for you,” he’d laughed at her questioning look.

With comments like that, she didn’t mind getting under Kanathi’s skin and annoying him with her attempts to get around him.

Today, she was managing to hold her own for an _hour_ and it was exhilarating. She had hidden herself in a pile of snow, using what little magic she had to fill in her footsteps. Kanathi passed her three times, growing more and more agitated and concerned. Before he could pass her a fourth time on his adorably frantic hunt through the woods (and before he could go assault the nearby fey, for that matter), she laid herself out in the snow as if she had fallen from a tree. She kept her eyes closed, having learned well the art of looking like she was asleep to escape doing the chores for inside the house.

Keladeinos kept her face straight as she heard him _running_ towards her. She waited, hearing him curse, until he was close enough to touch...he put his arm under her back and her eyes sprang open. She jumped him, unable to stop from giggling as she managed to pin him down to the snowy floor.

“Got you,” she giggled, letting her glee show in a sharp grin across her face.

He looked up at her, looking momentarily lovestruck again. His black eyes almost looked like they were going to light on fire, become the coals she remembered from under the Wild Huntsman’s helmet. He cleared his throat, closing his eyes and adjusting his eyes up towards the tree rather than at her. “Yes, yes you did get me.”

“And like you taught me,” she replied, “it’s smart to take a trophy from the hunt.” She hummed, very aware that his eyes zeroed back in on her and were watching her intently. A very familiar intensity. Keladeinos made a big show of letting her eyes drag all over him, making him shift and growl under her. She pushed his helmet off, booping the tip of his nose. He blinked at that, the illusion of a big scary hunter broken into adorable confusion with raised eyebrows and parted lips. “I think I’ll settle for an honest answer for why the Wild Huntsman- no why  _King Oberon_ is so interested in me that he pretends to be a mortal just to be close to me.”

He tilted his head, eyes widening. “How long have you known?”

“Since the introduction,” Keladeinos answered, smiling. “You grinned a bit too wide when I talked about paying respects to the Wild Huntsman. If this form had hair, I think you would’ve been running a hand through it with a cute dopey look on your face.”

He snorted, looking away. She noticed he kept her in the corner of his eye, subtle enough that if she wasn't looking for it she’d miss it. “I would not.”

“You are the proudest person I have ever _known_ ,” she giggled, fondness creeping into her voice, “you totally would’ve.” She cleared her throat, wiggling her lips to get the smile off of her face. “Question still stands.”

The Wild Huntsman sighed, gently (with a gentleness she wouldn’t have pinned to someone referred to as the Cold Fist of Winter) moving her off of him. His form shuddered and she saw the familiar black armor form into existence. His helmet turned and she could see the two glowing embers looking at her from within the helmet.

“I...I haven’t talked to anyone like you in a long time,” he answered. “At first, your blatant disrespect and casual attitude infuriated me. That did not match the reports my legions gave of the beautiful, graceful, polite mortal woman who was freeing them from iron and whatever other curses that linger in this damned forest, corrupted by mortal meddling. After we parted, however, I came to realize that I miss having someone to talk to that isn’t going to bend to my every whim.” He slowly reached out for her and she slowly leaned towards him, letting his cool black gauntlet cup her face. “It was...a different type of challenge that I haven’t had in a very, very, very long time.”

“So I’m a toy that amuses you?” Keladeinos asked, raising a white eyebrow at him.

He hummed. “Yes...and no. I’m commonly disrespected: the Summer Court is excellent at barbing their words with undercutting insults and slander. With our time together, it’s become clear to me that I am favorable to your specific type of disrespect. It’s...charming.”

“That looks like it hurt to say, darling,” she chuckled, leaning her head into his hand.

“I want to take you to Fimbulwinter, back to my hunting lodge,” the Wild Huntsman replied. He pulled a honeysuckle flower from a pouch in his belt, gently offering it to her. Her eyes widened and she slowly took it. “I want to give you what you deserve: the best lover you could ever ask for, the best meat at every meal, the softest furs in your bed. I want-”

“-to make me your trophy,” Keladeinos stated, leaning out of his hand. She asked, doing her best to keep her voice from cracking, “I’m just a hunt to you, aren’t I?”

“No, I want to be equals-” The words on paper were what she wanted to hear, but the Huntsman’s posture and tone were both tense, tense as they had been when he had the spear in his gut. She could see it in his shoulders, in the dim glow of where she knew his eyes to be. Could hear it in the grit of his voice through his teeth.

“I’ll believe it when you say that like it’s the easiest thing to say in the world, because I refuse to have a partner, a lover, or husband who doesn’t see me as an equal.” She stood up before he could answer, dodging his reach. “Here I thought you were being sweet, but the truth of it is is that I’d never be able to leave your lodge, isn’t it? It’s the typical fey sweet talk: you’ll be safe, you’ll be loved, you’ll be _trapped_ . But all these sweet nothings — they’re just arrows primed with nets to try to get my heart. Not because of any silly daydream I had that you actually _loved_ me, but because this is just a new kind of hunt for you to try. I told you when we met that I won’t go down easily.” She kicked his helmet in a roundhouse kick that he taught her, sending it spinning around so he couldn’t see. “I’m _scrappy_.”

She ran. She ran as fast as her legs, her lungs, and her broken heart could take her. She remembered her tricks, zigzagging and making confusing tracks to trail. She threw the honeysuckle aside to throw him off her trail. She could hear the howl of the Hounds, but she was far too gone to care about the significance of him calling the Hunt just for _her_ . She ran the whole night until she could no longer hear the Hounds or his desperate (a small part of her heart said they were heartbroken pleas, but Keladeinos knew — men of his stature didn’t beg, didn’t _plead,_ they just _take_ just like her father) shouting. She then made her way back to her mother’s orphanage, ignoring the large spider barded in House Kenarn colors outside of it. She walked past her mother and father shouting at each other, quieting them both with a growled, “Just kiss already.”

They both gaped at her, her mother recovering faster than her father. “Keladeinos, House Kenarn has an important mission-”

“I’ll do it,” she interrupted him, spinning to look at her parents. They both took several steps back when she was fully turned around to face them — she imagined that she probably looked like a madwoman with her shoes leaking blood, her hair with broken branches and leaves in it, and her teeth bared like a wild animal. “As long as it gets me out of this _stupid_ country, I’ll do it. Fuck the forest, fuck nature, fuck Thaecuria!”


	4. Stopping an Hour

House Kenarn had a plan to infiltrate the human country of Ilgar and to slowly, over the course of patient centuries, turn it into a drow country. Stolen by the drow, rebuilt for the drow, by the drow (and their slaves). It started with Keladeinos marrying a Baron Mordred of Ilgarian nobility under the guise of opening trade between House Kenarn and Ilgar. Keladeinos insisted that they marry indoors rather than outdoors, pretending to be overly worried about her hair.

On her wedding day, the thunderous hooves of the Wild Hunt beat through the sky rapidly and the howls of the Hounds tore through most people’s eardrums. Nobody could hear the vows said, but they were safe inside the cathedral: Keladeinos had insisted on using metal for everything they could, as a show of wealth. Baron Mordred would beat her on their honeymoon night and for years afterwards, accusing her of being fey-touched and having brought the Wild Hunt to his doorstep. She would tell him, that first time and the next, the nursery rhyme she had been taught as a child:

 _“Great King Oberon has woken his band_  
_and he comes roaring up the land._  
_The King of the World with all his power_ _  
cannot stop even the slightest of King Oberon's hour.”_

* * *

Three years later, Keladeinos found herself miserable. Being Baroness, the second fiddle to Mordred, was the opposite of what she wanted. Her heart cried out for the wilderness, the trees, the crisp air of early morning, the ache in her lungs from running after prey.

More often than not, she’d be trapped behind a desk. Filling out paperwork, the dirty work of both House Kenarn  _ and _ her lazy, good for nothing husband. Her husband preferred parties to actually running his barony. He’d be showered in flowers every time she saw him come home (Saint John’s Wart, Cypress, Meadowsweet, a lot of flowers and plants that she didn’t even know how to begin to identify) often bringing strange women into their bedroom — often enough that Keladeinos quietly had a small hide-away bed installed into her office so she wouldn’t give into her desire to kill him. She needed him, for the moment. His mere existence was, without a doubt, a good learning tool for the Huntsman: a symbol of what could happen if you hurt a lover too callously. As much as she found it distasteful to hurt him, she figured a fey king might need a metaphorical spear to the gut to learn this lesson. There were only two things that kept her sane through these years: rumors of her husband being humiliated as a hunter (hunted for sport, not for need, not for duty, but to bully others. Distasteful. Her favorite was the rumor of a bouquet of flowers being dropped on Mordred then a hawk shitting on him a month after their wedding) and the dream that maybe, _maybe_ she'd get through to the Wild Huntsman. 

At night, she’d look up at the moon and imagine two burning points in the sky, too orange to be stars, staring back at her. She had traded one imprisonment for another. She had made the right choice — she knew that, deep in her heart. 

It still didn’t make the irony of the situation feel any better. But such was the way of truth.

One day, she heard a tapping on her window. She saw a white hawk with blackened talons and beak, sitting patiently at her widow with a parchment tied to its leg. She knew by the icy blue eyes, the slight layer of frost growing on the window’s glass (in the middle of one of the hottest, most suffocating summers of the time she had been in this miserable country), who the hawk belonged to.

Keladeinos inhaled, slowly opening the window. The hawk stepped in carefully (avoiding the metal, side-eying her for its existence) before flying to her shoulder. She closed the window before gently petting the hawk.

“He’s finally ready to talk like a civilized person instead of throwing tantrums, is he?” she asked the hawk.

“One of those things is true about my master,” the hawk answered primly, lightly pecking her.

She snorted, gently taking off the rolled up parchment. She took out one of her dried meat chews, offering it to the hawk. It plucked it up, settling on her desk to eat without disturbing her from her reading. She unrolled the parchment, small parcels of strange and small red flowers with bell-like purple flowers and bright white flowers rolling out of it. It had been years since she let herself think of flowers, she couldn’t identify them. They were all bundled together in a small bundle about the size of two of her fingers, now laying on her desk with the sunlight highlighting their colors. Keladeinos looked at them curiously, setting the letter aside. She toyed with the image of the Wild Huntsman hunting through the woods for these flowers, smiling softly at the cute image of him in his full black armor regalia, the Terror of Thraecuria, picking _flowers_. It had to mean more than what she thought and a message within a message was not uncommon for his people.

 _To_ ~~_my_ ~~ _wild Kela,_

_You were right. I was simply viewing you as a trophy for a different hunt, a new dangerous game that I had never run before. I was arrogant, blinded by the thrill of the hunt and it ended up costing me too dearly._

_I have missed you, every day since the day you ran. You were the one who got away and I am sincerely_ **_glad_ ** _you got away. You hurt me in a way that I needed — I needed to wake up from my own blind pride and idiocy to be even remotely the lover you deserve._

 _You’re a better hunter than I, in this game. I came away with nothing but a well-learned lesson, but you...you came away with my heart with your strange kindness, your love of the wilderness around you, and your startling warmth. With your eyes, sharp as any arrow I could fire._ _With your lips, addicting as any liqueur in the Feywilds._ _With your mind, an eager hound ready to learn and hunt._

 _I send you hazel to show that I mean you no harm and that I seek to redeem myself in your eyes, harebell to show that I am_ _submitting_ _to your will, and hawthorn to show my hope that you will not turn me away._

_I am at your disposal. Write your wishes onto the back of this letter and send them back with the hawk._

_With love,_

_Your Wild Huntsman_

Keladeinos let a few tears land on the parchment, thoughts flying through her head. She looked in the mirror, able to pick out the spots where Mordred had left bruises on her face, and she pressed her lips together in a firm line.

_To my Huntsman,_

_I’m agreeable to a meeting. If you are able to get within the gardens when the moon is centered in the sky without being detected, we’ll discuss things from there. We have much to discuss._

_Bring Charlie, I’ve missed him._

_Your Wild Kela_

She rolled it up, gently tying it back to the hawk’s leg when it was done scarfing down the dried meat. She watched it fly off, her heart feeling lighter than it had for a long time. Keladeinos smiled to herself in the mirror, sincerely, for the first time in three years. She picked up the bundle of flowers, taking in their sweet fragrance.

* * *

When it was night, she exited her office in an ice blue nightgown and pulled a cloak over herself so she wouldn’t be too revealing. That’d send the wrong impression and she wasn’t planning on getting fully dressed just for her ex...whatever he was. She had to go to sleep after this and he did not have the privilege of forcing her into a bloody corset in the middle of the night. She made sure she had small pieces of iron on her: bracelets, mostly. She didn’t wear her wedding ring — the gaudy gold thing cut off her circulation at night, so that was a reasonable explanation. Not that she was hopeful about them getting to try...whatever the hell they were, but because it simply wasn’t logical. It was gold — it wouldn’t even fend him off _anyway_. She brought the packet of flowers he sent her, twirling them in her fingers.

Keladeinos took a slow inhale, then an exhale. Hopefully this wasn’t a trap she was walking into. She wanted to trust him, the letter seemed so sincere...and she already said she was going to meet him in the gardens. If it was anyone else, she would’ve taken a solid ten minutes _at least_ to think over the decision, but her Huntsman had an effect of making her rush into things. It was too late to back out now with any hope of keeping things civil. _“Don’t promise fey something you can’t deliver,”_ her mother said in her head. Keladeinos steeled herself then went to the gardens before she could talk herself out of it.

Tension left her body as she left the inside of the estate’s halls. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling as she felt the freedom charged in the open air, giggling under her breath as she twirled in the night’s air. She hadn’t let herself be outside like this in years, always sprinting from one door to another and keeping herself caged.

She walked through the garden’s hedges, looking at her reflection in a moonlight pond. She barely recognized herself...she had just looked in the mirror in her office and yet, here in the truthful reflection of the pond, she couldn’t recognize herself: the bags under her eyes were shifting away, the subtle scars and bruises on her face were fading, and her eyes were bright and almost glowing. Her hair was still the ridiculously long length that Mordred made her wear it — she itched to cut it. She smiled wider, looking up. Almost time. Her heart began to pound as she sat on a stone bench, wanting to be easily found.

Keladeinos wasn’t sitting there long before she heard a single, solitary howl. She barely had time to turn to it before she was tackled off the bench. She let herself laugh as she realized it was Charlie, the big Hound licking her face.

“I missed you too, Charlie,” she giggled, wrapping her arms around the Hound while being careful of her bracelets so she didn’t burn her friend.

“Friend! Best friend!” He dug his nose into her neck, looking up at her with big puppy-like eyes. “Ironbane! It’s been so long! Have you eaten well? Slept well?” He sniffed and froze. “Your soul smells of pain, friend, who caused it, I will eat them-”

“Ssssh Charlie,” she chuckled, kissing his head. “That’s a hunt for later.”

“Missed you,” Charlie whined. “Master missed you. Wants to make things right-”

“I can speak for myself, Erebus. Make sure no one stumbles on this meeting, boy.” The Wild Huntsman’s voice sent shivers down her spine. Charlie got off of Keladeinos, sitting at attention before prowling off into the garden. She slowly sat up, looking at the black armored figure that made her heart ache as he stood not even fifteen feet away.

Her eyes stayed locked on him as he slowly approached, her heart pounding. He offered her a hand and she slowly took it, letting him help her stand.

“How did you manage to get even lovelier when I wasn’t looking?” He asked, his tone amused.

“I plan on cutting my hair again as soon as I have access to a blade-”

He unsheathed a dagger with his free hand — its blade made of ice that wasn’t melting from the heat of the summer evening, looking impossibly sharp and near glowing from the moonlight — from his belt, making her jump. The Wild Huntsman slowly offered it to her.

Keladeinos raised an eyebrow at him in question.

“Your hair wasn’t what I was referring to,” he replied. “You can raze your hair to its roots, wear it however you like. I was referring to how you hold yourself. But perhaps this is the way you’ve always held yourself and I was a blind fool. The dagger’s a temporary gift - I want it back when you’re done.” He laughed, his helmet shaking.

“And how do I carry myself?” She asked, slowly taking the dagger and using it to cut her hair. With every long chunk that hit the ground, the lighter she felt.

“Like a queen,” the Wild Huntsman answered. “It’s...” He paused, seeming to drink her in greedily. “...it’s absolutely stunning. It’s a kind of beauty that I’ve only seen in Titania and one other.”

“I suppose three years of being married to a Baron will do that to a poor peasant girl,” she replied. She felt her whole face heat up at the comparison to the high queen of the Summer Court. “I’m sure Queen Titania is much more beautiful than I am-”

“It’s not so simple as that,” he replied. She blinked. He sounded almost...exasperated. As if he argued with someone _else_ many times about that topic. “It’s...you look like you’re having trouble with that side. I know you’re left handed and I’d rather you _not_ cut your neck wide open. Do you want help?”

“What will it-”

“A gift, freely given,” he answered. “Everything I offer tonight is a gift, freely given.”

She looked at him, tilting her head. She hummed, looking between him and the dagger. She slowly handed him his dagger back, deciding to test him.

He gently took her hair, cutting it cleanly with the dagger. “Comparing your beauty to Queen Titania’s is like comparing a wolf’s ability to track with a fish’s,” he replied, apparently not satisfied to leave that topic. She stayed quiet, his tone making her think he’d been wanting to tell her this for a long time. “Queen Titania is Summer itself: bright, full of smiles and sunshine, of brilliant colors. You, my wild Kela-” she shivered at that, unable to stop her lips from curling up slightly. He finished cutting the right side of her hair. He examined his handiwork, making sure everything was even in a way that made her want to giggle. When the Wild Huntsman was satisfied, he sheathing the dagger and putting it back on his belt. “-you have your own beauty. A fearless brilliant spark, able to stand up against all of Winter’s storms. A Summer Queen could never look as beautiful as you do when you’re covered in the blood of a kill with your eyes lit with satisfaction.” He cleared his throat, lowering his voice. “It wouldn’t be a far off statement to make that I am, perhaps, a little _too_ enamored with the sight of blood in your teeth.”

She was internally _melting_ , having not had this much sincere and honest praise in years. Then reality hit her: the praise could be a trap. Keladeinos frowned, looking around the garden. “Am I going to be targeted by Queen Titania for you saying these things-”

“I think my sister will forgive me if I’m not romantically spouting about her beauty,” the Wild Huntsman answered. “No, she’s quite amused about this whole ordeal. She keeps teasing me, Oberon, you must get out there and speak with her, you’re going to pace a hole in my rug! I had this rug given to me three centuries ago, they don’t even _make_ rugs like this anymore, no one knows _how_!”

Keladeinos laughed at that, imagining Titania from the woven tapestries she had seen scolding her Huntsman. She tilted her head, deciding to ask a question that had been an idle curiosity for her over the years. “Oberon, is that—”

“No, it is not my true name,” he answered. He sighed. “Titania’s been much more patient with me than I was with her when she was in love with a mortal. Between her patience and the sheer terror I have at the idea of disappointing you, I think I’ve been fairly well-behaved waiting for you to leave your Iron Citadel.”

“You’ve hunted and killed all of my husband’s favorite hunters,” she replied, keeping her tone deadpan instead of letting the bubbling amusement she felt paint her words. “You’ve hunted my husband’s hunting grounds almost dry. Or so he claims, other hunters have no problems.”

“Kela, if I went by my initial urge to hunt, I would’ve hunted and killed your husband and turned him into a _rug_ . The idea of someone else holding you...of laying claim to you...of _hurting_ you...” He turned away from her, but she could hear him growl with the ferocity of a pack of wolves.

She looked away, trying to hide her embarrassment and shame. “I suppose you saw that-”

“That miserable leech hitting you? My hawks saw it through the windows,” he answered. “My sister had to leave her court to chain me to stop me from rallying the Court of Winter to _war_.”

She turned back to him and gently touched his arm, having made up her mind. Fey don’t go to war for _toys_. They go to war for each other. He turned to look at her and his tension — his anger and frustration — seemed to leak from him like air from a balloon seeing her smile at him. “What would you hunt for me, Oberon?” She asked in a whisper.

“Anything,” he answered. “I would hunt the Sun itself and shape its fire into a crown if you asked. I would hunt tarrasques and carve their hearts out if you asked. I would—”

“My husband,” she interrupted him, since it sounded like he was winding up for a rant (a very practiced rant). “I want you to quietly kill my husband. Leave the Hunt behind — this needs to be quiet.”

“Boggle’s play,” he exhaled, taking a step away from her. “I will go now-”

“We’re _not_ done yet,” she replied and he stopped. Kelaedinos mused if he had been a sun god, she would be melted to the ground from the intensity of his stare at her. She gently took his hand, leading him to the stone bench. She sat down on it and he sat down besides her, watching her. “I want to hear you implicitly say why you’re willing to do all of this. Helmet off.”

Her Huntsman bowed his head, taking off his helmet. He had short, meticulously cropped white hair that looked as soft as first snowfall. His skin was still the very pale blue she had seen when removing the spear from his stomach, pale like glacial ice itself. It was as if he was _sculpted_ from ice itself. His nose had wide nostrils and was sharp in its point, almost hooked. He had pointed ears like an elf, but wider than any elf’s ears that she’d seen. All the better to hear things with, she mused. By mortal standards, he was too off-putting, too familiar-yet-not (resembling a wood elf, yet obviously not being one, looking almost mortal yet clearly not mortal, ethereal like magic and nature made physical), too almost-monstrous to be considered handsome. To Kela, he was gorgeous. His eyes — glowing orange irises set in black, the twin fires that had been teasing for so long under his helmet — looked into her own.

“I’m willing to do all of this — and more, I’d like to add for the sake of transparency — because I love you,” he replied. “You challenge me not as prey, but as an equal.” Her eyes widened, not seeing a bit of tension in him as he admitted that: he was as calm as a stormless night. She would’ve expected his jaw to tighten at least as he gritted out the words, but he was relaxed as possible from as far as she could tell. “Beautiful, wild Kela, I hurt you. I know that: my Hounds could smell your pain, I _saw_ the blood in your tracks that you made as you had ran from me. I pushed you into giving up the wilderness that you so clearly love. I will _never_ forgive myself for that.” He went to look away from her, but she gently touched his face and turned him to look at her slowly. He leaned into her hand, closing his eyes. “I have always been the King of the Winter Court and Commander of the Wild Hunt, but with you...with you, I finally _feel_ in my heart that I am King and Commander.”

“Oberon-”

“Not Oberon,” he replied, his eyes springing open. He looked about as much as he could without leaving her touch, his ears _moving_ like a dog’s. She watched, fascinated with him as he took in their surroundings with his strange ears, his sharp eyes, his strong nose. He slowly pulled her close, his lips brushing the edge of her ear as he whispered, “Elric.”

“Elric?” She whispered. Keladeinos jumped when she felt and saw him _shiver_ intensely, almost shaking. “Are you alright-”

“She was _right_ ,” her Wild Huntsman barked his laughter in delight, looking up at her with a manic grin that made her heart swell. “It feels _amazing_ when your love says your true name.”

Keladeinos’s eyes widened, her jaw dropping. “You...you gave me your...”

“Yes,” he muttered. “You want us to be equals? I give you the two syllables that will bring me to my _knees_ as easily as any blow I could give you. The ability to control me as your _puppet_ as surely as any death threat I could give you. I give you a dagger, poised at my heart. I give you-”

“Elric?” She whispered and he shuddered again, watching her with wild, _happy_ eyes. “My true name is Keladeinos.”

“Keladeinos,” he whispered reverently and she shook. It was like every centimeter of her was being lit on fire at once, a sudden conflagration of joyous fire that set her nerves on fire. This was old magic, fey magic. It felt like her heart was bursting from joy: if it wasn’t already fluttering from everything _else_ that had happened this night, her heart definitely felt like it was fluttering _now_ in every sense of the word. “My wild Keladeinos,” Elric exhaled, drinking her reactions in. He leaned in and kissed her neck, muttering her name with every kiss and making her gasp and shake. Every time he said her name, it was like she was a goddess: it sharpened her to a heightened clarity, what she could only call _enlightenment_. The way he said her name, it was a small “I love you” for the first time over and over and over again. He was addicted to it, she realized as she melted into his side drunk on power and love.

Kela giggled, panting lightly, “Shut up and kiss me, my Huntsman.”

Elric needed no further prompting: he kissed her. He kissed her like he was dying of thirst and she was water. She moaned into his lips, gently pushing him away. He whined, looking at her with a raised eyebrow and parted lips (the look in his eyes was so fragile, ready to throw up his guard should she keep pushing him away). Keladeinos took off her metal bracelets, tossing them into the hedge. She grabbed the collar of his armor and closed the gap, kissing him again and melting the King of the Winter Court.

If you asked her what happened after that, Keladeinos would tell you that she took him to her office. For research purposes.


End file.
